


and time stops and stars implode

by brainrot_supremacy



Series: compelling for those even beyond the grave [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 'time is a flat fucking circle', Absurd, Absurdism, Acceptance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angry Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Body Horror, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Gods, Heavy Angst, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Hybrids, I Don't Even Know, I WILL STOP TAAGGING NOW OKAY BYE, Insane Wilbur Soot, Insanity, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Kinda, Old Gods, Protective Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Reluctant Acceptance, Sheep Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Stream of Consciousness, Time Shenanigans, Tthey're all angry and all upset, Violent Thoughts, Wilbur Soot-centric, a story told in parts is the best story of all, absurdist, and sometimes people doom themselves, anyways. this is meant to be confusing, etc etc add more edgy shit here, i am pushing my hcs far too far, i was brainstorming in the dark shower and bam this came to me, of your own mortality, only wiht the dsmp event in place of rps, schlatt? the god of many things, so with advice of the dead and a halo over my head type beat, some things repeat yes that is normal and meant to happen, sometimes people are just doomed from the start, this is based off the hc that the dsmp is almost like purgatory and also that one image, time really is relative, wilbur is referred to as the mad god, wilbur is the god of insanity, yknow the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainrot_supremacy/pseuds/brainrot_supremacy
Summary: Here's a secret: there's nothing beyond what you want there to be, and behind that stupid fucking lie there's hordes of people clamoring for your ignorance, masses of people clawing each other's eyes out in hopes of getting your dumbass mindset and melding it with theirs-Good luck getting to sleep, now.
Relationships: Everyone & Everyone, Jschlatt & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: compelling for those even beyond the grave [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132205
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	and time stops and stars implode

**Author's Note:**

> i AM working on the next part of my fic i AM i swEAR  
> (one space is just a pov switch, two is a time break, and three is a mix of the two. in case it gets more confusing than i planned)  
> i was thinking and thought of this based on a previous self indulgent au i never published. if you have any questions, ask me; but other than that enjoy.

If you ask anyone on the SMP who made the server, they'd look at you oddly and tell you (in differing ways, of course. When you've been around since the dawn of everything it makes you a bit absentminded, but you realize that people are distinct in the ways they are.) that _Dream had made it, of course._

But if you ask Dream -and catch him alone in a forest, or in the corner of a room, or when he's shrunken down to the size of a pair of socks to hide from everything- at the right time of night, his mask will shift a bit and he'll tell you that it was Schlatt and Wilbur, and maybe even Ph1l, but it sure as all things wasn't him. 

Sometimes even Gods can be wrong, though. 

_In traditional Christianity, both the Old and New Testament are accepted as truth, words directly from God's mouth put on paper by His followers. While translation has been a constant issue-the original texts were not written in English, unlike some ignorant people chose to believe-interpretation has always been up for debate. Catholics look to the current Pope for guides on how to interpret certain touchy subjects, Lutherans look to a mixture of the 95 Theses and Luther's teachings himself, and the list goes on. While specific and individual beliefs will never truly be the same from person to person, there seems to be an unspoken rule: If your views differ too greatly from the acceptable norm, then maybe you aren't a_ real _Christian after all. It is for this reason that many psychologists who have dealt with patients and clients with religious trauma typically never are interested in religion: the strict homogony of beliefs rarely allow for personal growth until one comes to the conclusion that institutionalized religion is, in essence, a way to teach and learn docility. It's a touchy subject with many who are sympathetic to Judeo-Christian views, and some people actively block out that viewpoint._

_Truly, a double edged sword._

_Another tenet of Christian views is that the dead should never be talked to, as that is a sign of Satanism. It amazes me that these people can be so_ willfully ignorant _as to what's right in front of them. Maybe it's stubbornness in regards to wanting the dead to stay dead? Or maybe these people want to stay blind as to the horrors of death. ~~( <<maybe introduce them to Ph1l or another of his legion to get them acquainted?) ~~(<<< Human failure is necessary for their growth. This will inevitably lead to their own downfall. Human hubris, anyone? Either way, a good idea, but it goes against the "leave them be" tenet of out own beliefs.) (<<<<What about the DSMP Purgatory Door? It's one of the later Doors, and both the Mad God _and _the Time God are on their way there now. Ph1l would be a good guard for those two.) ( <<<<< Request granted.)_

_Further study is necessary._

(An excerpt from the Ancient's Studies and Dropped Projects:A Beginner's Guide to Know All There Ever Was and All That Will Ever Be.)

They've been talking about this for forever, eons upon eons of discussing even the deepest part of human nature; and yet this has never occurred. It's a slippery slope of time that Dream had finally opened his eyes to right after the world had been finished, and although he had gone a bit mad towards the end Schlatt had flattened the curve as much as possible.   
They'd become friends, then, discussing the deeper part of hominid psychology and glancing on the aspect of time. 

  
Dream thinks that Schlatt thinks of him as a replacement for Wilbur, but Schlatt _knows_ it's true. 

~~_The festival goes off without a hitch. It is great and and amazing and goes perfectly to plan, including the whole murdering-Tubbo thing, because that was definitely planned and not him losing it again because he's a bit more susceptible. No one implodes into colored streaks of burnt flesh and no one is beyond redemption because the festival goes fine._ ~~

Well. Maybe another time, or something. 

And it's the final war, and Schlatt can feel the ground beneath him biol in rage and heat up in agony, and he hears it tell him -distantly, because he's up on stage and the real ground is a ways away from his feet; but the earth is so angry at what's to come- that _Wilbur is planning to destroy us, Wilbur is planning to tear us apart, the Mad God is plotting to rip us to shreds, they want to see us suffer-_

The sheer anger that even the dirt holds towards Wilbur makes him shudder. It shakes him, but he shouldn't be surprised. The Mad God is as his namesake says, and until the end of all things that will not change. 

He shakes faintly, but no one notices. _(He's alone, of course, in a drug van as his vessel stuffs itself full of the cheapest black tar heroin it can find in an effort to kill itself. Is that fucked or what?)_ The Chaos energy Wilbur gives off has always been in the back of his head, a faint buzzing that powers him through nights and gives him a rush of nostalgia for a time before, but in this very moment it's all too much. 

He congeals his essence, for just a bit. 

_(He and his vessel are different, if only slightly. It's not a cohabitation of the same body in any kind. It's more...a symbiosis, almost. He helps the vessel be a bit more put together as a fake human being and his vessel helps keep him concentrated while not congealing him.)_

_(Congealing his essence is just that, really. It's hard to explain to any mortal, considering their essence is tied to their body [but some don't believe that and that's alright in the end], but in another time he tried his best to explain it to Dream. "It's like putting too much protein powder in too small an amount of water. You know you're not going to like it, but it's powerful and intoxicating and makes your head spin just right. You get more power but can be harmed easier, and you can access more of the universe but can be shred apart by it in the same breath._

_Dream had looked at him oddly, and they had ended their talk there.)_

_((His vessel had given up, at one point in time. Halfway through the water-lava saga, or somewhere at the beginning, (it doesn't matter anymore, the vessel whispers to him. he takes it at face value because he can't bear to lose the vessel, especially not right now. these people need to learn before it's too late.) the vessel had lost all hope for the future and had made up for that with over-exaggerations and fake emotions. It's not something they talk about often, but in the small time pockets that are made with strong emotions they do talk about it.))_

Either way, he detaches from his vessel for a few to calm down and gather his power.

He has to have been congealed for too long, because when he blinks back into the drug van people are surrounding him. That's the thing, being a god. Time is always fucked. 

His vessel stumbles a bit, obviously trying to get his bearings as people stare him down. The clamoring quiets as the vessel whispers, quieter and smaller and more meager than anyone had ever seen him before, _~~"What the fuck,"~~_ they ask aloud, ~~_"Is this a fucking birthday party? I wasn't--"_~~

 ~~~~And then he feels it.

He's being torn apart. 

~~_The world tilts and pulses and for a few intoxicating seconds almost feels like home._ ~~

~~_God, that thought alone makes him wanna puke even more._ ~~

~~_So he downs that thought with more booze, chased down by more self destruction and more self hatred and more for his next world psych to "help him get through", and who the hell is he kidding hes never gonna get out of this hellhole; he created it and it dies with him and he dies with it and every explosion makes his head pound_ ~~

Tubbo notices it, on some occasions. He notices it late at night and early in the morning, and at other times when he shouldn't be around. Maybe it's the fact that Schlatt's eyes lose their shine at those times, maybe it's the fact that there's always a high-pitched ringing around those times that emanates from him, or maybe it's the fact that Schlatt always asks *who he is, again? maybe it's the drugs getting to me. god, i should take a nap.*

Whatever it is, Tubbo notices it, and as loathe as he is to admit it, he's worried. 

Especially because he can hear ringing emanating from above him now.

It reaches a peak, lowers again, and harmonizes with itself a thousand times over in such a short span of time it's a wonder no one else can hear it. Maybe his goat ears mean better hearing or maybe he's just fucking insane but it's so *loud*, and-

And there's something over the roof of the drug van _how can i see that if im inside of it_ , a dripping ball of _something powerful, something pulsing and growing and hurt-_

And then he feels it. 

He's being _tor-_

Ph1l spreads his wings out, all encompassing as the world shrinks around him, and _breathes_. 

Shit's about to go down _(going down right now, he just doesn't want to face that fact)_ , and even though he's an Angel for the Ancients, sometimes he wishes he defected long ago.

Fuck.

Some people think that there's a set destination for where you go when you die. 

Only the Gods know the truth, and even of those Gods, only the Ancients are clued into the whole thing. Well, the Ancients and their inner circle, but that's almost the same. 

~~_This fresh hell is a purgatory for those in it to learn and move on. Schlatt was supposed to help them and now he's here, making more mistakes for them to fix. Is that fucked or what?_ ~~

Schlatt was sent on a mission by them, once, past the doors. 

He looks back on it now and is critical of past-him for not realizing it sooner, but he can't change the past. Hell, he's not even sure if he'd _want_ to change the past given the chance.

Either way, he was ~~un~~ lucky few who had been allowed past the Doors. 

At one point, after going down and past and out so many doors that had never meant to be opened, he

well

it doesn't matter now, does it?

He'd reached the end, opened doors only meant to be opened by one, intruded on personal dimensions of afterlife after afterlife, and found the Mad God himself at the edge of all things. It was a humbling discovery, but it was one that didn't last long. 

Because the Mad God was as his namesake said, and the Mad God did not want to leave this place alive.

A test, then.

Some people think there's a set destination for where you go when you die. 

Here's a secret: there's nothing beyond what you want there to be, and behind that stupid fucking lie there's hordes of people clamoring for your ignorance, masses of people clawing each other's eyes out in hopes of getting your dumbass mindset and melding it with theirs-

Good luck getting to sleep, now. 

~~**Good luck recovering from this, Schlatt.** ~~

Schlatt is singing a bit oddly, Tommy notices.

It's a bit overshadowed by the fact that Tubbo had just collapsed. Just like that. No warning, no clue, 

_Well, I mean, he did look up and look scared out of his fucking mind. His hands had gone up to his ears and his eyes had rolled back, and was that blood there? Wow, this is gonna be something you're never gonna forget, huh. Hey, look at that! Schlatt's stumbling over to you now. Good luck protecting Tubbo, "Big Man!"_

...

_Is-Is he singing? Like, full on? What about?_

_Fucking TOYS?_

Tommy wants to shank a bitch. 

The world tilts and pulses and for a few intoxicating seconds almost feels like home. 

God, that thought alone makes him wanna puke even more. 

So he downs that thought with more booze, chased down by more self destruction and more self hatred and more for his next world psych to "help him get through", and who the hell is he kidding hes never gonna get out of this hellhole; he created it and it dies with him and he dies with it and every explosion makes his head _pound_

_he sings to distract himself and its an ode to the ever growing power that he knows will tear him apart_

_and maybe he'll get out of this one fully dead this time, maybe he wont have to live with himself this time, and maybe he can-_

_he sings more, a stilted version of a song he remembers someone once created, something about a moth and gods and chains and experimentation,_

_is that fitting or what_

_he belts his lungs out to ward off the encroaching stench of_ wilbur wilbur wilbur wilbur mad god mad god mad god mad god mad god mad god mad god

_hes screaming, odd shaped flitting in the corners of his vision, and he thinks that this is when he dies-_

and he's back in the present, ad he whispers a long-dead song aimed for wilbur only, no matter how far away or deep underground he may be, only everyone else in the van hears too.

"so with advice of the dead -"

"and a halo over my head-"

Wilbur and Schlatt had just gotten out of the Door Age. (They call it that to joke around about it, but they both know the other would rather not talk about it. Touchy, and all that.)

Wilbur is, Schlatt discovers, a bit of a poet. A bit of a musician, too, but a poet first. 

They'd been goofing off, as the two tended to do, when Wilbur asked Schlatt about a song he wanted out of his head. Schlatt had agreed, and had honestly been blown away. 

The Mad God knew how to channel Madness into is voice, that was for sure. 

Later on, after a few days of pure and utter nothing, they had both half-jokingly agreed to make that their calling card, or whatever. 

It hadn't really stuck. Obviously. 

He feels the calling but he doesn't want to stop tearing because the rush of _power_ it gives him feels like nothing else, but he promised, but he promised, but he _promised-_

Most people don't know this, but madness is built on a promise to the self that you can go fucking apeshit. 

And if you're the Mad God, well. 

I think you can draw conclusions form there. 

**"and a halo over my head-"**

Ironic, really. Their branch of godhood never did have the traditional "holy" memorabilia attached. At the time, it had been a fun little poking at the self. Now, he pushes against it, trying to-

~~**there.** ~~

He's been congealed for a bit too long, maybe a few eons, but holy shit he's _dying_

he pushes himself into the vessel because he is _powerful_ and he can _do it_ and not _die_

fuck he's- overshot just a bit and-

Tubbo's body is on the ground, pulled into a corner by Tommy, but his mind is racing. 

_How can I see this? Is- Is Schlatt_ melting? _What's going on? Why is he whispering? Is that W-_

He knows what to do. 

Tubbo _shoots_ up like a rocket, which startles Tommy. Quite frankly, if your friend had eyes leaking blood and they had just _woken up_ like nothing had happened, I'm sure you'd be terrified too. 

Tommy tries to pull him down, but Tubbo has always been a bit too fast for him. 

He tackles Schlatt with his eyes still leaking blood.

"Very few people know this, Schlatt, but I can take control of a person's madness."

"Like, anger or insanity or-"

"Both!"

"Cool."

"What can you do, Schlatt?"

"Well, I can-"

He's locked in a battle for his own _fucking_ body and he doesn't want to know what will happen if he loses, because then he and Wilbur might be torn apart for the gods to study, and he might never get to help these people move on, and that's his _job,_ and he _hates_ failing, and

it's been years since he's felt like-

Distantly he realizes his head has cracked open on the van floors. Huh. Ironic, isn't it, that he dies like this, locked in a battle for his own sanity as to not become a Mad subordinate. _He's never seen a Mad God subordinate again after the Shift._

He's being shaken but his brain is leaking out onto the oddly slippery ~~ground~~ van floor, compressed and looking like pig innards. 

Gods, that's fucking gross. 

Maybe if he just-

_If you ask anyone on the SMP who made the server, they'd look at you oddly and tell you (in differing ways, of course. When you've been around since the dawn of everything it makes you a bit absentminded, but you realize that people are distinct in the ways they are.) that Dream had made it, of course._

_But if you ask Dream -and catch him alone in a forest, or in the-_

Wait. Shit, that's too far-

_Later on, after a few days of pure and utter nothing, they had both-_

GOT IT. NOW-

Schlatt tackles Wilbur, and down they go. 

Wilbur crashes down to the ground of the van, shocking and scattering everyone inside. 

"Wh- What? Wilbur? What are you-?"

Ph1l blinks in as well, sitting in the driver's seat, wings shifting to accommodate the back of the seat.

"Phil? When did you-?"

The voices crowd around him and he's being choked and he can't _breathe-_

He jumps a bit, appearing on top of Wilbur, and is so happy to see Wilbur turn around chaotically that he ignores the look on his face. 

_"Wanna take this outside, dipshit?"_

Wilbur growls at him, and he grabs the Mad God's hand and forces them to jump. 

Out of the corner of his eyes _(many, now, since his compressed and congealed self was shoved around time and space and almost murdered he's lost a bit control over his form, give him a break)_ he sees Tubbo staring at him with some form of reverence or awe. 

Well, that's sure to get crushed real fucking quick. 

Tubbo felt it, really. He thinks it's not something that can be seen without straining the eyes _(his are bleeding and they hurt like hell but it sure is better than having your innards scooped out)_ but by the way everyone starts yelling questions at Phil, he thinks they all just saw that. 

Tommy is losing is _goddamn mind._ That is the only explanation for what he just saw. 

_JSchlatt, with multiple eyes (none of them with pupils, mind you), multiple horns, and far too many mouths? Wilbur, his own brother, looking like he had just crawled out of hell itself, with eyes like fucking blood and a mouth so twisted he's probably been exposed to radiation or something?_

_You've gotta be out of it, man._

Ph1l is so tired it is fucking unreal, and yet here he is. At least he's not bored, he'll give Schlatt that, but if Wilbur loses again he might as well just kill that little shit before any of this even happened. 

He brushes off every question that is thrown at him with a gentle nod of his head, and he walks out of the drug van.

He at least wants to see the end, this time around. 

He might even get to leave if he makes a convincing enough report.

 _Gods,_ what a joy that would be. 

You may not think it, but purgatory is nonlinear as fuck. Tiring, too.

**John 15:13**

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.

**in·san·i·ty**

_/inˈsanədē/_

-the state of being seriously mentally ill; madness

-extreme foolishness or irrationallity

**ab·surd·ist**

_/əbˈsərdəst,əbˈzərdəst/_

-intentionally ridiculous or bizarre; surreal

-relating to or supporting the belief that human beings exist in a purposeless, chaotic universe

-a writer or artist who deals with absurdist themes

Some people think that dying and resetting and only having a few people know about it would make for a confusing story to tell an audience that has no clue what the storyteller is going on about, and those people are right, to an extent. Absurdist plays are hard to grasp a meaning on, and maybe that's their intent. Maybe the whole shtick was that there was no shtick, all along. Maybe everything should be taken at face value. Are insanity and absurdism that far apart in reality? Don't they share the same core beliefs?

Some stories don't have an ending, you know. 

Maybe it's time that Schlatt accepted that. 

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to a few songs while trying to remember this, but eventually i just reverted to Honey I'm Home by GHOST. They constantly make bangers. No misses. In all seriousness, though, I do subtly reference the lyrics in the writing (big fucking whoop to me, huh) and have been screaming about this connection to the red egg/insanity in general in the dsmp (brainrot, anyone).  
> for this, though, just assuming that time is realative (it really is. have you heard of dog years? that one space twin experiement? time is wierd and im an absurdist) and all that quantum physics jargon, the lyrics actually fit really well for schlatt and wilbur. if you wanna hear more of me screaming ask me in the comments ig.


End file.
